


A Night at the Movies

by MinP1072



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5872732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinP1072/pseuds/MinP1072
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red shows up at the end of the day to take Liz out for a bit of fun, and the evening takes a turn neither of them expected. Put it somewhere in… Season 2. Written at the prompt of FilmsAreFriends, and fluff fluff fluffy. With a tiny bit of smut. Just a little. Like a garnish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night at the Movies

Liz yawned widely, then looked back at her monitor to confirm that yes, nothing had changed on the screen in the last five minutes. _Time to go home_ — but her thoughts of warming cup of soup and an hour zoned out in front of the television were interrupted by a polite knock on her doorframe.

When she looked up, it was Reddington standing there. Of _course_ it was, just the perfect topper to her day.

“What now, Reddington?” Exhaustion painted her tone and dragged at her shoulders.

“Lizzie, you look miserable. I have _just_ the thing to cure what ails you,” he announced cheerily, dropping into the chair across her desk.

“I was just about to pack it up for the night,” she answered. “I’m off the clock.”

“Not work,” he said. “Heavens, at this hour? No, no, a nice, quiet outing is what you need to clear those clouds away. Come to the movies with me.”

She wondered briefly if she could be hallucinating. “You… _You_ want to take me to the movies?”

“You need to relax,” he pointed out. “And that grimy motel room is no place to do it. There’s a silent film festival on at the Avalon — come with me.”

“Silent movies?” she answered skeptically. “Really? I don’t think…”

“You’ll love it, I promise.” He spoke blithely over her, and stood up, holding out a hand. “Come on, Lizzie. Live a little.”

Somehow, without really thinking about it, she took his hand and stood up; allowed him to tuck her hand into the crook of his arm and lead her from the Post Office.

* * *

As Dembe pulled up outside the old brick building, with its concrete pillars and old-fashioned gilded stone awning, its incongruous red neon sign, she decided that she was definitely losing her mind.

Still, she waited for him to come around the car to open her door and help her out, as she knew he preferred to do. She allowed him to squire her to the ticket booth with an arm around her, the gentle warmth of his hand on her back pleasing rather than irritating.

“So, what’s playing?” she asked lightly — she’s here now, she might as well be pleasant.

“Oh, we’re in luck!” His voice is actually giddy with excitement. “It’s _Nosferatu_! You’re going to love this.”

She rolled her eyes, despite her good intentions. “A silent _Dracula_?” she asked. “How scary can that possibly be?”

“Oh, don’t count your chickens, Lizzie,” he twinkled at her. “I think you’ll find plenty to entertain you.”

He bought their tickets, ushered her into the stately read and gold lobby with its dangling crystal chandeliers, and she couldn’t help but be pleased. He insisted on Milk Duds and a cola for them to share, which made her laugh.

They walked through the double doors into the theatre, and it really did evoke a bygone era — cream fabric-paneled walls and bright red curtains, a painted ceiling medallion highlighting the dark paint and gilt ceiling. He guided her to the last row of plush red velvet seats with a wince of apology.

“I’m afraid I always sit on the aisle in the back row, Lizzie,” he said with a faint smile. “Just in case.”

She smiled back. “I don’t mind,” she answered. “It’s fine.”

As she sat down beside him, warm and comfortable, doing something completely normal, she felt strangely at home.

* * *

The strains of the overture rose up as the lights dimmed. She watched the jittery title screen, then the jerky black and white images began to spool past, giving the basic outline of the classic tale. She found herself enjoying it all much more than she’d expected to — and she could practically _feel_ the enthusiasm coming off Red, which just seemed to make everything better.

Before long, the haunting strains of the violin start to put her on edge, and the moody tints of the film made everything look odd. When Red shook the Milk Duds and offered her the box, she actually jumped in her seat, making him chuckle gleefully.

“Oh, stop that,” she scolded, but she wasn’t really angry.

The sense of “wrongness” that permeated the film increased with each scene. Although the bald, bat-eared, claw-fingered Count Orlok should have been silly, even laughable, she found him eerily chilling instead. 

She found herself easing into Red’s side, closer and closer. She was unnerved enough by the atmosphere of the film that she didn’t even mind when he rumbled another laugh and put an arm around her.

When Cutter’s door swung open of its own accord and then Orlok oozed into view, she jumped again; when Orlok rose up from nowhere onboard ship she actually cried out. At that, he tightened his arm a little and pressed a kiss to the side of her head — she reddened slightly, and was glad it was dark enough that he wouldn’t notice.

They finished their candy companionably, and she thought absently that she could never have imagined enjoying a night out with Reddington so much. The harsh and spooky strings continued to keep her on edge though, and she wasn’t the only one who gasped in shock when Count Orlok suddenly flashed into view in a window.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself, Lizzie.” His rich tones resounded in her ear, and she shivered reflexively, then wondered at herself.

When the count’s long-fingered shadow glided up the staircase, she turned to him, meaning to laughingly bury her face in his side, not wanting to watch the vampire’s bite. But he, too, has turned — to whisper again, to bestow another comforting caress, she didn’t know what.

What she did know was that they have turned together, and their lips have met, easily and naturally, soft and sweet, and her already taut nerves ratcheted a couple of notches tighter in response.

* * *

A fraction of a second, that was all, and then he pulled back.

“Lizzie?” he whispered, more unsure than she had ever heard him, still so close that his breath ghosted over her lips.

A dozen thoughts clamoured for her attention, most of them negative. She decided in an instant to ignore them all and go with instinct, instead.

“Again,” she said faintly. “Kiss me again.”

“Lizzie,” he repeated, but it wasn’t a question this time.

Then, his mouth was on hers, warm and gentle and coaxing.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to become deeper, more intense; her hand came up to clutch at his sleeve just as he began to tease and nibble at her bottom lip, seeking. She opened to him willingly, her mind fogging over even as her body came awake. He kissed like it was a dance, one he knew well and loved, with just enough of an edge to make her breath short.

Her other arm crept from between them to rub at his neck, scratching at the bristly hairs at its nape. His left arm was still wrapped around her, somewhat tighter than before; his right was stroking along her back, waist, hip, inflaming even as he soothed.

She thought dimly that it was more than a little ridiculous to be making out in the back of a movie theatre like horny teenagers, but then his searching hand found its way under her jacket and the hem of her loose sweater and all thought vanished.

Lost, she was lost in him as his hand slid up her ribcage to the underside of her breast. She gasped a little into his mouth; the contact was electrifying, almost too much for her skin to hold. His other hand was tangled in her hair; his mouth was fierce now, fierce and demanding.

His hand shifted so his thumb could rub across her nipple; it hardened easily in response and she moaned involuntarily. He answered with a low growl, and left her mouth to make a trail of hot, wet kisses along her jaw and down the line of her neck to suck at the juncture of her shoulder.

Their arms tightened at the same time, pulling, wanting to be closer, to touch, to consume — they are halted by the hard bar of the armrest between them. Desire was a hot knot in her belly, and she thought for a mad moment of leaving her seat to crawl into his lap.

Her thoughts are stopped by the swell of the orchestra and bursts of happy chatter from ahead. He tore his mouth from her and whipped his hand away, smoothing down her sweater as he shifted back in his seat.

As the end credits played and the lights came up, they just stared at each other, shocky and wild-eyed. Then, as the theatre began to empty, he sighed, stood, and offered her a hand. As he drew her to her feet, he looked into her face and smiled.

“Come home with me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she heard herself say. “I think I’d like that very much.”

And she kept her hand in his as they walked out to the street, to find their way home, together.


End file.
